Seems Like Old Times (3 page)

As Bruce talked about insurance company politics, Lee
stopped listening except to make properly appreciative murmurs now and then.
Was she really being maudlin over Miwok? "Maudlin
Over
Miwok"--it sounded like a song. She mentally shrugged. Maybe Bruce was
right and she should leave here as soon as possible.

She forced her concentration back to him and could all but
see his self-satisfied smile as he spoke. Bruce spent a lot of time being
self-satisfied, with good reason. At age thirty-four, a year her junior, he was
third vice president of one of the world's largest insurance companies.

"Baldwin gave me the dinner invitation at about
six-thirty tonight," he said. "I was still at the office--I suspected
he'd be prowling around today--and he came and sat down. I think I've got him
in my hip pocket, Lee.
Right where I want him."

"Can he breathe?"

"You think I give a damn?"

"You're bad, Bruce."

"Real bad, and you love me for it!
Like
I do you.
Well, time to say goodnight.
Got to be up
for Baldwin tomorrow.
Try to get back soon, won't you, Lee? You’ll
definitely be here for the dinner, right? I’m counting on you."

"That’s a week and a half away. Of course I’ll be
there. Wild horses couldn’t keep me here that long."

The next morning Miriam had her heart set on making a
round of short visits to the homes of lady friends she hadn't seen in years.
"Won't you come along, Lisa?" she had asked at breakfast--eggs and
toast for Miriam, and a half-grapefruit for Lee. "Just like when you were
a little girl?"

Lee shuddered at the thought. Luckily, she didn't have
time. She planned to spend the morning interviewing realtors to market the
house.

An hour later, though, she’d talked to five answering
machines and one live real estate agent whose questions and comments were so
off the wall, Lee hung up on him. She hoped that the realtors calling her back
made more sense or the place would never get sold. Actually, blowing it up was
high on her list of satisfying alternatives.

Since Miriam was still looking hurt by her refusal to the
invitation, Lee agreed to join her. She would spend the afternoon sorting
through her mother’s photographs, books, recordings and any other personal
belongings that they might want to keep. Everything else was going to the
Goodwill. Hopefully, she’d hear from those realtors by then.

As she drove Miriam to the familiar homes, she remembered
how Mrs. Moore always gave her
chocolates, that
Mrs.
Collins had two enormous, playful dogs, and Mrs. Truax made the best peach ice
cream Lee had ever eaten--even to this day. The ladies hardly seemed to have
aged at all. As they chatted about old times and even older friends, she
remembered what it had been like as a child, warmly welcomed, sitting beside
her aunt with goodies in front of her. Five years after Lee's father died,
Miriam moved away and the visits stopped. Judith never visited anyone, and no
one came to call.

Listening to the ladies’ belated condolences over her
mother's death wasn’t as dreadful as Lee had feared. She had imagined they were
shocked that there was no funeral. Judith had made arrangements in her will for
cremation and Lee had honored it to the letter. She’d held a small memorial
service in New York and had sent money for one to a church in Miwok. She hadn't
known if anyone bothered to attend. When she learned that all three of Miriam’s
friends went, as did a handful of others, she was shocked that it touched her.
She didn't think anything concerning her mother could be touching.

As Miriam arranged to have longer get-togethers with
everyone, Lee saw how happy her aunt was to be with her old friends again.
Although Lee would fly out early Friday morning, there was no reason for Miriam
not to stay a few extra days on her own. She certainly wouldn’t lack for
company.

Once back home, Lee checked her mother’s answering machine.
One realtor called back, but a return call only elicited a frustrating message
that the agent was gone again. Lee hadn’t wanted to give out her personal cell
phone number, and used the land line at the house.

Miriam was stretched out on a recliner in the family room
with the television on. A show began with familiar words from the deep-toned
announcer, "Like sands through the hour glass, so are the days of our
lives."

The words, the voice, reminded Lee of years ago when, as a
child, if home from school due to illness or vacation, she would watch that
soap with her mother. Judith would spend hours in front of the television. When
Lee was very young, her mother stayed home, living off of young widow's
benefits and insurance money after Jack’s death. After the money was all spent,
when Lee was about twelve, Judith got a job in a dentist’s office. But she
never lost her love of television. Lee often thought the sitcoms and dramas
were more real to Judith than the life she led. They were certainly livelier.

Lee fought hard against those memories and the bitterness
that lurked just beneath the surface. She didn’t want to remember those days,
didn’t want to remember her mother, and how she used to act back then when Lisa
Marie was growing up...the days of her life. She excused herself and quickly
left the room.

She wandered into the living room, a minefield of early
American reproductions, from a green and yellow floral high-backed sofa, to
frilly armchairs, and country-style wooden or porcelain knickknacks standing on
tables or hanging from walls. Despite the number of do-dads, the room looked
strangely empty. Then she realized that none of her mother's constant
companions were here.
None of the Premier, Variety, and
Entertainment Weekly that cluttered the tabletops of her childhood.
Or the filled ashtrays.
Or the dirty glasses and empty
bottles...

Judith had known Hollywood backwards and forwards. She
never let Lee forget that she had planned to go to Hollywood to become an
actress. It was only because of an auto accident--the one in which Lee’s father
died--that she didn’t make it.
The accident had killed her
husband, shattered her right hip, and left her alone and limping and with
chronic pain.
Worst of all, it had shattered her dreams.

She tried to transfer those dreams to Lisa Marie, but
little Lisa Marie just couldn't live up to expectations, no matter how hard she
tried, and she'd once tried very, very hard.

Lee turned away, rubbing her forehead, forcing her
thoughts back to her job, Bruce, anything but the past. Her stomach began to
churn for no apparent reason and she went into the kitchen for a swallow of her
ulcer medicine. No one knew about the ulcer, not even her fiancé, Bruce. She
learned early on to never show a weakness, never show she wasn’t in absolute
control. In her line of work, any flaw was an invitation to attack.

She didn't want Miriam to know about it simply because she
didn't want Miriam to think that her perfect job and heaven-blessed love life
were anything less than ideal. They were ideal, but that didn’t make them
lacking in stress. She would have felt far less stress if she weren’t a
perfectionist, but to be one was part of her nature. She prepared for
interviews right up until airtime, and even when over, she would often fret
that she hadn’t dug a little deeper, hadn’t been a little more insightful.

She folded her arms and paced, waiting for the medicine to
work. As she thought of how much Miriam had enjoyed being with her old friends,
she remembered that the best friend of her own childhood still lived in Miwok,
and although they’d made occasional phone calls and sent yearly Christmas and
birthday cards, they hadn’t sat and chatted together for many years.

She phoned Cheryl McConnell, now Stanton, and was told to get
her butt right over there....

o0o

An hour later, Lee walked toward Cheryl Stanton's house.
She’d been there once before, ten years earlier, during a horribly mistaken
visit home, the last time she'd been to Miwok.

It was a middle-class home--two-stories with dormer
windows on the top floor, and a jutting two-car attached garage. The front lawn
was more beige than green, and both it and the driveway were edged by low-lying
juniper. A basketball hoop hung over the garage door, three bicycles lay on their
sides in the driveway, and two badminton rackets and a birdie cluttered the
lawn. Parked at the curb was a shiny and aging
Astrovan
.

As she reached for the bell, the door opened.

"Lisa!" Cheryl rushed out of the house and threw
her arms around her in a tight, smothering hug.

Lee's first reaction was to stiffen, but soon she hugged
Cheryl back.

Lee studied the woman her friend had become. Thirty years
ago Lisa Marie Reynolds and Cheryl Ann McConnell met on the first day of
kindergarten. Cheryl had lived two blocks away, in a town in which little girls
could go two blocks--even two miles--from home and not worry. They went from
playing with
Barbies
to sharing secrets about first
loves to learning how to dance. They wore each other's clothes and talked by
the hour on the phone.

After high school, when Lee went to live with her aunt in
San Diego, Cheryl stayed in Miwok and got married. Lee’s career took off, the
years passed, and their friendship went on hold.

The photos Cheryl had sent over the years were of her
children, not of her. She had always battled weight problems when they were in
high school, and now was past the pleasantly plump stage. She wore navy blue
slacks and a blue and red plaid, short-sleeved blouse. The tail of the blouse
was worn over the slacks rather than tucked in. Red clip-on earrings were a
give away
that she’d dressed up a bit to see Lee. She’d
said she was cleaning house when Lee phoned. No one wore earring to vacuum.

"It’s so good to see you, Cheryl. You look
great." Lee smiled into her friend's eyes. Cheryl’s sun-tanned skin was
smooth and wrinkle-free, her hair short, straight, and a deep rich brown. She
appeared happy and at peace with herself.

"You, too," Cheryl said. "No, on second
thought, you look even better. God, I can't believe you're here." Cheryl
hooked Lee's arm and led her into the living room.

The sofa and loveseat were a matching blue floral print,
with the centers of the seat cushions dark and shiny from use. There were three
overstuffed chairs in the room. They matched nothing else, not even each other.
A television set had the place of honor. The last time Lee was here, Cheryl had
three small children and looked exhausted. The living room had been
wall-to-wall toys, and a big playpen for the baby had stood in the center.

"It's hard to believe how long it's been."

"Me, too.
Ten
years, at least.
You haven’t aged a day. And here I thought it was all
TV make-up!" Frank brown eyes surveyed the dark green jersey dress with a
matching jacket, gold jewelry, the immaculate hairdo and the classical face,
flawless still. Lee remembered that when she last saw Cheryl, she wasn’t yet
working in New York, hadn’t yet learned how to use the best made-up, or to
select the tailored clothes, or to find the most suitable hair style that made
her stand out from the pack. It was that visit to Miwok, in fact, that led to
her decision to pursue her career. "Miwok is a bit off the beaten
path."

"Tell me about it!" Cheryl frowned, hanging
Lee’s jacket in the coat closet off the entry hall. "I need some coffee.
Do you still drink it?"

Lee grinned.
"Of course.
More than ever."

Cheryl hurried into the kitchen. "Still use
half-and-half?" she called.

"Black.
Got
to watch my weight."

"Your weight?"
Cheryl
came back with a tray, set a cup and saucer before them both, and filled the
cups with coffee. "I’ve seen fatter straws. I’ll bet you have to run
around in the shower just to get wet."

They both laughed uneasily,
then
looked at each other, letting the years melt away.

"At least the Christmas cards helped," Cheryl
said.

"And that long talk on the phone after my mother
died," Lee added.

Cheryl looked surprised.

"That’s right. I appreciated your call, Cheryl. It
meant more to me than you’ll ever know." Lee took a sip of coffee. When
Judith was suddenly gone, although condolences poured in from around the world,
and Bruce had offered comfort, there was too much that he simply didn’t know
and probably never would. But Miriam and Cheryl understood without her having
to explain. There was value in that kind of friendship, in those kinds of ties.

"Well, shoot, girl," Cheryl said. "What are
friends for?"

Lee’s eyes lifted to Cheryl’s and the openness she saw
there made her unsure whether to laugh or cry. Instead of either, a small,
hesitant smile spread over her face. Cheryl returned it, and both smiles
broadened. Suddenly, their old affinity sprang up from some long buried past.
She could almost believe they were Lisa and Cheryl again, best friends, sharing
secrets and gossip and dreams. They weren't, of course, yet an odd imbalance, a
juxtaposition of the past with the present, swirled about her.

Cheryl led Lee to the kitchen table, poured her a fresh
cup of coffee and took a carrot cake with cream cheese frosting out of the
refrigerator. Normally, Lee spurned cake of any sort, but after all the
calories she’d ingested that morning with Miriam’s friends, taking a few more
bites of pure sugar couldn’t hurt. She’d forgotten how intimately connected
food and friendship were in a small town like Miwok.

"So, tell me"--Cheryl cut a big piece of cake
and put it on Lee’s plate--"how do you like being back? What was that old
song about not staying down on the farm after they've seen
Paree
?
This must seem even worse than a farm. Sometimes, girl, I can’t believe I’m
still here myself!" She shot Lee a perceptive glance. They had once been
as close as sisters, and each had shared the other’s dream. Cheryl was going to
be a teacher, and Lisa was going to be a Pulitzer Prize winning journalist.